Jean-Marie Blas De Robles - Where Tigers Are at Home

Eléazard remained silent for a few moments, long enough for him to realize that Elaine had disappeared from his life long before vanishing in the Mato Grosso. He was convinced he was right in thinking that the announcement of her death would draw nothing but formal expressions of mourning from him.

“Loredana’s gone back to Italy,” he said, without noticing his own boorishness.

“We know,” Euclides replied simply. “That’s why I made you come so early today. Too early, from what I deduce from your sweat; you reek of sugar-cane alcohol, my friend, as bad as a bus.”

“Let him be,” Carlotta broke in. “I assure you it’s not true, you don’t reek, Monsieur Von Wogau …”

“I’m used to it,” Eléazard said, blushing despite everything “But how did you hear?”

“She came to say good-bye before taking the plane. She’s a nice girl. Don’t be too hard on her, sometimes it takes more guts to get out of things than to stay.”

“She told you everything?”

“If by ‘everything’ you mean her illness, yes, she did.”

“And you think—”

Euclides broke in immediately. “No. I know what you’re thinking, but it’s out of the question. We have to accept her decision for what it is, a refusal to harbor delusions about herself and about others. And, consequently, a refusal to see you again. She didn’t act on impulse, you know.”

“I understand,” Eléazard said sadly, “but I don’t approve.”

“Well that’s because you don’t understand anything,” Euclides said bluntly.

“I’ve told him repeatedly, first of all finish your degree, then you can do whatever you like … But you know what it’s like, especially when they’re that age, they don’t give a fuck — pardon my French — about what you tell them … He didn’t even take his final exams! So there we have it! You’re still smoking as much, from what I see … It’s going to take a good half hour … I’d have preferred to do it in two goes, but OK … It could hurt a bit, as we go on, tell me if you need a little rest. Aspirate, please, Katia … The electric guitar, that’s the only thing he’s interested in. Having said that, it seems to me he has a gift for it, and a damned good gift at that … Admittedly I don’t know much about it, but it really gets you going when he plays … I bought him a Gibson and that’s not just any old guitar, you can’t imagine what a thing like that costs. Just between ourselves, I managed to get a friend to buy it for me in Hong Kong. And when I think they refused to have him at the Academy of Music! Can you understand that?”

Lying on his back, hands on his chest, Moreira kept his eyes fixed on the glass and stainless-steel sun above him. This chair was surely the only place in the world where he could get away with not answering an idiot’s questions. The droning voice as much as the patch of luminosity behind the frosted glass was sending the governor into a drowsy state close to hypnosis. He closed his eyes. It was an ideal way of having time for himself.

The day’s good news was summed up in one word: Petrópolis. That’s it , Barbosa had said on the telephone, it wasn’t easy, but he’s been officially taken off the case and transferred to Petrópolis. With promotion as a nice sweetener … Thanks to you I’ve got the state lawyers’ association on my back … I’ve seen them off, Moreira kept repeating to himself with satisfaction, I’ve seen them off once and for all! Biluquinha had been unusually categorical: they hadn’t been able to establish a prima facie case since there had been a procedural error during the arrest. The case was heading straight for a dismissal. Definitely for Wagner and with a good chance for the two others, since one of them had withdrawn his confession on the grounds that it had been given under duress.

Edson, the old fox, had not waited long before asking a return favor. The opinion polls had him in front in Ceará State, but not far enough for it to be a foregone conclusion. So he’d had to agree to his request to go and support him in his territory, trying to pull in the floating voters. The idea of going to Fortaleza didn’t particularly appeal to him but it was a case of “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.” It was the least he could do after the way Barbosa had saved his bacon.

For a fraction of a second the pain made Moreira freeze. It was as if Carlotta had given his memory a vicious jog. Carlotta … The more things were sorting themselves out, the more determined she was to divorce him. He’d tried to cajole her again, yesterday evening, but she’d refused to give him a hearing. She’d stayed silent, locked in her room, until he’d really seen red. But when he tried to force her door, the jaguar had started growling, arching its spine, as if it were openly taking sides against its master. The son of a bitch! He’d been forced to calm down. He would never have suspected his wife possessed such strength of will. Eventually she had spoken to him, but solely to inform him that a lawyer—“her lawyer”!—would be contacting his shortly. He had been flabbergasted that she had already been to see one of those guys. She who didn’t even known how to fill in a tax return! It was hardly believable.

He was choked by a profound sense of injustice. He hadn’t worked like a nigger all his life to end up here. She’s suffering from severe depression, he thought, it’s Mauro who’s making her act crazy. As soon as he gets back from his stupid trip everything will sort itself out. But a sharp little voice kept reminding him that he’d insisted on marrying with a prenuptial property agreement. A noble gesture that was threatening to send him back to his state of penniless country bumpkin; if Carlotta remained inflexible, that’s when the real problems were going to start. As far as his feelings were concerned, the idea of a divorce seemed painful but bearable, even attractive given the prospect of regaining his freedom; politically it was a nuisance; financially it was unacceptable. There must be some way of getting out of it, he told himself, his fingers clenched over his stomach, some simple, rational means …

“A position as clerk or even a court usher, anything as long as he’s a state official. I’m sure you know what I mean, a small salary but regular. I can vouch for him, he won’t cause you any bother … There, that’s it finished. You can rinse out your mouth.”

Moreira drank the contents of the plastic cup before spitting into the basin. He stretched his jaw then licked his freshly scaled teeth. “Get him to send me a CV,” he said as the chair came up with an electric rumble, “I’ll see what I can do. But don’t expect anything before the elections.”

How a fever can give birth to a book; also containing a description of a thinking machine worthy of praise

WE HAD JUST finished celebrating the New Year when my master fell ill with a very nasty fever that came close to taking his life. Without having had any prior indisposition that would explain his sudden fatigue, he woke one morning with no strength at all. When I saw him confined to his bed for the first time, his gaunt face & pale complexion moved me to pity, though less, however, than the definite change in his accustomed bearing: he had an astonished look on his face, as if he were in the grip of some amusing, secret reverie, while he was actually incapable of thinking of anything at all. The muscles of his face twitched with brusque, convulsive movements, & his arms & hands as well, so that he looked as if he were catching flies.